


Blow by Blow

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Pawns and Symbols - Majliss Larson, Star Trek - Various Authors
Genre: F/M, Face Slapping, Power Dynamics, Prompt Fill, Unhealthy fixation, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 05:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13024215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: Someone so fragile shouldn't be able to hurt him with nothing but her bare hands.





	Blow by Blow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "face slapping".

His cheek stings from the blow, more than he expected. Someone so fragile shouldn't be able to hurt him with nothing but her bare hands. But she looks like a wild thing, dangerous and frantic, eyes blazing with barely controlled anger, and he loves that it was him who dragged this out of her, who stripped her from that thin veneer of fake civility and politeness. It's always him. She get frustrated at others, sulky at Kang's orders, annoyed with the local scientists who don't take her seriously, but he's the only one who can get her to the brink of snapping and beyond.

She lashes out again, her palm making a hollow, harsh noise when it connects with his skin. 

There's blood in his mouth. The taste fills his senses, stingy-sweet and metallic, addictive like a drug. 

He catches her wrist when she pulls her hand back again. His grip is a little too tight for comfort, and the wince that tumbles from her lips makes something dark and hot coil in the pit his stomach. Her bones feel breakable under his fingers as he squeezes his hand and pulls her in, close enough to feel her breath on the sore skin of his cheek, close enough to count of flecks of gold in the poison green of her eyes and to see every minute twist of fear and defiance and excitement rippling over her face. 

"Hit me again, human, and we'll find out how well you deal with retaliation."

He imagines her pale skin reddened with the heat of impact, imagines tears stinging in her eyes beneath blazing anger, imagines blood painting her lips crimson. A pretty, ugly fantasy he's never going to get to live because, even if she's spoils of war, she's never going to be _his_.

She doesn't twist her arm from his grip, doesn't step away. Bares her teeth at him in a bad approximation of a smile and leans in closer, so close. 

"You wouldn't dare," she says, right against his lips, a taunt and a challenge he wants to accept badly enough that he can taste it. Acidic. Bitter.

He forces himself to relax his fingers and release her wrist, leaving dark finger-shaped bruises behind as he takes a step back. It's harder than it should be, his self-control precarious and brittle. Sometimes, he's glad that the Commander's word is standing between them, that laying his hands on her would be a surefire way to get himself killed. His obsession with her is already a weakness he cannot afford - and he knows that if he was allowed to, he could lose himself in her.


End file.
